


Through the Threads of Space and Time (I'll Always Love You)

by crescentstrife



Series: Sefikura Week 2021 [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst, Fate & Destiny, Love, M/M, Magic, Promises, Prompt: Meeting In Another World, Reincarnation, Romantic Soulmates, Sefikura Week, Sefikura Week 2021, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, Wings, some implied sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentstrife/pseuds/crescentstrife
Summary: Sefikura Week 2021 Day 1 - Meeting In Another WorldAfter living and dying countless times,  Sephiroth and Cloud finally find paradise, with each other. But all good things must come to an end.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Series: Sefikura Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122833
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56
Collections: Sefikura (Sephiroth/Cloud) Week - Yearly Event





	Through the Threads of Space and Time (I'll Always Love You)

**Author's Note:**

> For more information on Sefikura week, you can go to https://sefikuraweek.tumblr.com
> 
> You can also find more information about my writing at rabid-heart.tumblr.com or on twitter @crescentstrife. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It took them far too long to come together. They had danced in a battle across the threads of time and space, the clash of their blades louder than any words or feelings they might have wished to share. At the start, there was nothing more than bitter rage and anger – how could Cloud feel anything else toward the man who seemed destined to destroy every world he awakened in?

But then something changed. It might have been the hundredth meeting – might have been the thousandth, for after years and lifetimes, it was hard for Cloud to keep track – but this time, when his sword cut through Sephiroth’s body, the man did not look at him with shocked arrogance or disdain. Instead, those green eyes were glazed with tears of longing, of hope, of relief, of thanks.

When Cloud awoke the next time, he was haunted by those eyes and the ghosts of unspoken words that swirled behind them. Over the following lifetimes, over the repeated sight of those green eyes, Cloud had tried to push the dangerous thoughts away – the traitorous _what ifs_ that kept him up at nights, that made him hold his sword with just a little bit more uncertainty. He had stubbornly convinced himself that there was no other path to follow. And why wouldn’t he? In all the lives he ever lived, there was only one constant: Sephiroth would destroy and Cloud would be his executioner.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe there was a part of him that thought to simply try something new. Or maybe the thought of seeing those eyes grateful for the death that Cloud had given them had vexed Cloud’s last nerve. Because at one point, finally, the warrior had had enough.

When he let go, stepped back and let that long silver blade pierce straight through him, Sephiroth’s green eyes were not thankful. They were not triumphant either. They were afraid. They said, pleaded, begged, _please don’t leave me alone._

In the next life, that was all Cloud could think about.

In hindsight, the fact that it took them this long, this many cycles, this many lives, to get to this point was ridiculous. Cloud and Sephiroth were tied together, irrevocably, inescapably. It was a fact of the universe as was the force of gravity. No matter how far they were at the start, they would always collide. But this was a different type of collision – not of swords, but of lips and limbs and bodies and hearts and souls. It only took one night together for the realization to sink in: _this_ was what they were meant to be. For there was no one else in the world that understood the dark crevices of Cloud’s mind and cherished him for it. And in turn, there was no one else in the world that Sephiroth knew would never truly leave him. It was _perfect_.

But the Planet itself seemed to disagree. It clawed its way between them, tried to tear them asunder, tried to set them back on the fated paths they were always meant to walk. It was too late, though. Cloud now knew what paradise felt like and it was waking up to silver hair and dazzling green eyes and warm arms. And if Sephiroth kept one thing from his repeated reincarnations, it was obsession. They would never stop fighting for each other, even if it would tear the strands of the world apart.

In the end, they had decided to run – find a corner of creation that would be theirs and theirs alone. And it is here that Cloud finds himself now, in a meadow of wildflowers and late summer breezes and clear blue skies. He feels like he once did as a young child, without worries or care, warm inside like nights by the fire with a mug of hot cocoa. He is walking as he does on some mornings, listless and barefoot, letting the flowers and tall grass graze through his fingertips. In the bed inside the house up the hill, Sephiroth is still sleeping.

Cloud rarely wakes before the man, but when he does, he walks. Because it is in the hazy morning light that Sephiroth looks the most human, asleep with his hair falling out of the tie that had come undone during the night. When Cloud sees that profile, feels the soft breath on his forehead, hears the steady heartbeat under his ears, it is just shy of overwhelming. The sight never fails to awaken something in Cloud: the mounting of a thousand promises, of heartfelt devotion, of the desire to remain there pressed into that man’s chest forever. Because in those mornings, he is reminded that he loves Sephiroth so much, that he can hardly breathe for it.

So, Cloud gets up and walks, for fear of drowning. He knows now that Sephiroth does not mind. He even understands, watchful eyes always assessing, always knowing, always wanting. He will stay in bed until Cloud is ready to come home, offer the fond and sleepy smile that he has now learned to give so freely, and allow the blond to climb onto his lap and show him just how much he loves him. It is a ritual now that feels even more exhilarating than the battles they used to perform (though every once in a while, they dig up their blades from storage and enjoy a dance or two, for old times’ sake).

Cloud thinks about that routine now and looks back at the house, anticipation and excitement and joy curling in his heart. He begins to make his way up the hill, when he notices dark shadows rumbling over the grassy fields, green cracks of lightning shooting through the sky. The edges of the world around them begin to dissolve, like sand in water, and as the air begins to thicken with smoke, so too does the fear grow in Cloud’s heart.

_They’ve found us._

He runs, bare feet pounding hard against the dirt, still wet from the morning dew. Though it has been many years since he called upon it, the old speed still has not left Cloud, and it only takes seconds before he crosses the threshold into the cottage. He tracks dirt in as he makes his way to the bedroom, and belatedly thinks about how Sephiroth would chide him for the messes he makes.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud breathes, standing in the doorway in his mud-covered feet. The man in question had still been asleep when the blond had wandered in, though Sephiroth was now groggily starting to stir under the sheets. Cloud moves to the side of the bed, shaking him more urgently. “Get up, we have to run.”

“Run?” Sephiroth counters cautiously, still blinking away the sleep from his eyes. As a by-product of no longer spending the days fighting, the former General had begun indulging slow rises, among other comforts he had not enjoyed before this life. It is almost endearing, seeing him this way, vulnerable and confused and still unbelievably handsome all the same.

But Cloud does not have time for this, not if he wants to keep this life he’s built alive another moment. He takes the other man’s face in his hands, brings it close, their eyes locking, and says, “The Planet, it’s come for us, Seph.”

It takes a moment for the understanding to dawn. When it does, Sephiroth shoots off the bed. He moves toward the closet, pulls on a shirt and some pants, and states, “Get your things. I’ll get your swords.” 

Cloud does as he is told. He shoves a bag full of some of clothes, and rushes to the front closet to grab their boots. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Sephiroth has retrieved First Tsurugi and its accompanying harness from the storage closet in the basement. Cloud does not bother with the harness, simply grasps the combined blade. “Can you get us out of here?” he says, pleadingly.

Sephiroth closes his eyes for a moment, trying to dust away the cobwebs of the old magic he used to wield so effortlessly. After he had created this space for him and Cloud, he hardly practiced the art anymore. Most of his god-like abilities, he had abandoned, and if his wing ever made an appearance, it was only in bed and at Cloud’s request. The reduction was a sacrifice he had been willing to make for a lifetime with his love. But neither of them had counted on this.

The man tries to conjure a portal to another world, but the threads of the spell slip from his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’ll need time.”

“We don’t have it,” Cloud says, slinging the bag over his shoulder and moving closer to the silver-haired man. “But maybe we can buy ourselves some.”

Sephiroth nods and wraps his arm around Cloud, holding the smaller man as to him as tightly as possible. He conjures his wing and a moment later the two of them are in the sky, soaring far away from the cottage they had lived in for nearly countless years now. As they fly, Cloud watches as the dark shadows and green tendrils begin consuming the entirety of the peaceful meadow, swallowing their home whole.

Cloud tries not to let the feelings overwhelm him now, but they are there, building armies in his mind. Despair, for one, which is ironic and terrible and cruel in itself. But there are others, like fear and anxiety and desperation, too. He had thought that they successfully escaped from it, the cycle of repeated lives and lies and deaths, the dreadful fortune the wheel of fate continued to turn and turn for them. He had thought that they had defied destiny itself. But despite all their strength and power, they had failed. And now, they could lose everything. That alone was enough to break the dam of his tears, and Cloud finds himself crying soundlessly.

Destiny, it turned out, was a stubborn mistress.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth whispers, pausing for a moment mid-air. He notes the dampness of the shoulder of his shirt. “You’re crying.”

“I’m fine, keep moving,” Cloud whispers, curling into his lover tightly.

Sephiroth opens his mouth to say something, but lightning strikes suddenly through the sky, and the next thing Cloud knows, they are falling. He sees Sephiroth’s eyes, wide with a fear that the man rarely shows, and Cloud knows own his eyes mirror the same expression. The inevitability begins to sink in as gravity takes over. And still, Sephiroth grasps him tightly, shifting their positions to brace their fall, and before Cloud can protest, they land in the dirt, hard and with a sickening crack.

For a moment, there is silence, and Cloud wonders if he had briefly passed out, if this is all just a terrible nightmare, if he will just wake up and be in that bed that he had made with his own two hands, in the arms of the man that he loves more than the world itself. But unfortunately, when the blond opens his eyes, only the latter is true. Sephiroth is still holding him, but his breathing is ragged, as if he is trying to stifle the pain that keeps rising out of his throat. Quickly, Cloud rolls off of Sephiroth and surveys the damage. The man’s wing had torn into shreds from the lighting strike, the bones of it broken and jutting through the feathers from the stun of the fall. He looks at Cloud now with watery eyes that still hold such fondness, such resilience, such power, such grace.

_Like a fallen angel._

“Are you alright?” Sephiroth breathes, reaching out to Cloud.

Cloud just sobs in response, moving to cradle Sephiroth’s head in his lap. “Oh, Seph, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped.”

But he did, because Cloud was crying and Sephiroth, for all his logic and strategy and intelligence, loves him far too much to not try and comfort him. It is so bittersweet that Cloud apologizes again anyway, pressing kisses to that perfect face. He can taste the hint of salt on his lips, but whether it is from his own tears, or Sephiroth’s, he does not know.

“Is it bad?” Sephiroth asks, half-jokingly.

Cloud hates it, hates that the man has tried to develop a sense of humor to entertain him over the years, hates that he is using it now. But he leans forward and presses his forehead against Sephiroth’s and says, “No, it’s fine.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes, because he knows Cloud and knows well enough when he is lying. “Then you have to go.”

“No.”

“You are running out of time.”

“I am not leaving you.”

“You have to.”

Cloud shakes his head furiously. “No. No. I’m never leaving you. I’m never leaving you, ever. I’m yours and you are mine and we are never going to be apart, ever again.”

“If only that were true, my love,” Sephiroth murmurs back, and reaches a hand up to tangle in those blond spikes.

“I’ll make it true,” Cloud says. “With everything I have.”

But as the words leave his lips, they both can feel it, the dark shadows approaching. They had ages here, in this world they created, days and months and years folding into each other. And somehow now, with only minutes left until the end, Cloud feels that all that time is not enough. He wants more. He wants forever, an eternity. He wants Sephiroth, the only thing that had filled the empty chasm in his soul, the only thing that makes him feel real and whole.

Sephiroth looks at him, and Cloud swears he can see the man’s heart breaking. “You must go, Cloud.”

“No.”

“They’ll take you. They’ll take you and take me and in the next life, they won’t let us be together, not again.”

“Then I’ll make them,” Cloud fires back, and in his eyes are anguish and fear but also devotion and steel, all the things that make Cloud so utterly irresistible and utterly unbreakable. Sephiroth wants to believe him, wants to believe in that strength that had challenged and defeated him again and again, wants to believe that it may be enough. He looks at that sunflower hair, that freckled face, those dazzling eyes, and thinks that there cannot be anything more beautiful to believe in than this. For if there is something more stubborn than destiny, then it had to be Cloud Strife.

And Sephiroth himself never went down without a fight.

“Then I will find you. In the next life, I promise, I’ll find you,” he says.

Cloud responds, “And I promise, I’ll save you.”

Sephiroth seals the vow of meeting again in another world by pressing his lips against Cloud’s, fierce and full of all the longing in a heart that he had thought lost all capability to love long ago, in a heart that he knew belonged to this man, forever. Then, the darkness descends upon them, tumbling through their bodies and ripping their souls apart and away, leaving nothing behind at the edge of creation, except the ghosts of that kiss and the last words they whispered to each other.

_I’ll always love you._

**Author's Note:**

> And so concludes Day 1 of Sefikura Week! I hope you liked it. Let me know if you have any comments or feedback!


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